BURNING FLAMES OR PARADISE
CHAPTER TWO
BLANK SPACE
Saw you there and I thought
Oh my God, look at that face
You look like my next mistake
Love's a game, want to play?
OCTOBER 2006
"You sure, Kate?"
Kate nodded at her best friend, leaning down so she could speak directly in Lanie's ear. "Yeah. Go on, have a good time. I'll see you tomorrow."
Lanie raised her eyebrows, but when Kate just shook her head, she gave the other woman a nod. "Alright, fine. Just be careful, okay?"
Kate nodded. "You too. See ya." She retreated from the loud club entrance, headed back the way she came. When she'd agreed to a night out with her girlfriends, she'd really wanted to do it; once she was there, though, she couldn't handle the claustrophobia of a nightclub or the fakeness of the men buying her drinks just to get in her pants.
She wandered, no real plans to her steps, until she saw the neon sign of a 24-hour cafe. Her eyelids grew heavy, almost as if to say "yes, stop here," and she crossed the street.
The cafe was nearly empty, just a couple at a back corner table, huddled close and sharing kisses. She sat in a booth in the middle, facing the door, as she always did.
A waiter approached, a man not much younger than herself, and she ordered her usual vanilla latte and a bear claw.
She heard the door open as she was taking her first sip, and her instincts had her glancing up. The man had her doing a double-take; she knew him, knew that scruff, even knew the deep voice that ordered a cappuccino.
Out of the corner of her eye she watched him as he leaned his hip against the counter and turned, seemingly surveying the room. The heat of his gaze when it landed on her had a shiver running down her spine, and she took another sip of coffee, refusing to acknowledge when he approached with his drink.
"Nice night, isn't it?"
She feigned surprise when she looked up. "I'm sorry?"
The smirk on his lips brightened his whole face, and she had to grip her cup tighter. "I said, it's a nice night, isn't it? For late October, anyway." He slid in across from her, ignoring her protest. "Cool, but not too cold. The perfect night to be curled up with a book, or a boyfriend."
She just leaned back, watching. She'd read that he was a playboy, but she'd never imagined this, him just sitting in her booth and striking up a conversation. "So why aren't you?" she interrupted.
"Why aren't I what? Curled up with a book?"
"Or a boyfriend," she teased, baiting, forcing her face to remain serious.
He chuckled. "Well, boyfriends aren't really my thing. But if you must know, I was curled up with a book earlier, but I got restless."
"Ah." She nodded and lifted her mug to her mouth once more. "Not a good book?"
His actions mirrored hers, his mug hitting the table at the same moment hers did. "No," he admitted with a sigh. "The real world was much more appealing tonight." His gaze darkened as he leaned forward, his eyes piercing, studying. "What about you? Why aren't you curled up with a book, or a boyfriend?" He paused. "Or...a girlfriend?"
She scoffed. "Friends wanted to go out, I didn't, but I'm not ready to go home yet. That's all."
"I see. What's your name?"
She hesitated just a moment before answering. "Kate. Yours?" She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of letting him know that she knew who he was.
"Rick."
She shook his outstretched hand, tried not to marvel at the strong grip, his soft skin. "Nice to meet you, Rick." She drained the last of her latte and stood. "Have a good night."
He rushed after her. "Wait, where are you going?"
"Home."
"I thought you didn't want to go home yet," he pointed out, a hand on her shoulder. "I, for one, am not ready to face the night alone. Can I buy you a drink?"
She shifted her weight between her feet as she studied him. She really didn't want to go home, didn't want to face her cold, empty apartment. Not when her favorite author was asking her out. Her teeth found her bottom lip, and after a few moments she nodded. "Sure."
He woke to movement at his back. The alarm clock in front of him told him it was the middle of the night, and he turned when the mattress dipped.
Her back was to him, hunched over, and when she straightened, she pulled her shirt over her head. She leaned back slightly then stood, tugging her underwear on.
"Where are you going?" he rasped, and he saw her freeze, shoulders square.
"Home," she said, without looking at him. "I have to be at work in a few hours."
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, found his boxers. "I thought you had the day off." It wasn't a question; she'd mentioned as much earlier in the night.
She stopped at the door of the hotel room, head down, shoes and jacket in her hand. After a few long moments she turned back to him. "It shouldn't have gone this far," she insisted. "Goodbye, Rick."
She was gone before he could respond.
He went to the cafe every night for a week, sitting in the same booth, waiting. Hoping. He wanted to see her again, but every time the door opened and it was someone else, his heart broke a little more.
The last night of the week would be his last for a while, and he sent as many positive vibes into the universe as he could spare, begging for one more chance. He just wanted to see her one more time.
And he did.
Somewhere around two in the morning, when he was about to call it a night, the door opened. He almost didn't look up, didn't want the familiar burn of disappointment in his chest, but he did anyway. And what he saw almost made his heart stop.
She was wearing tight jeans and a button-down under a blazer and overcoat, a far cry from the short dress the last time he'd seen her. But it wasn't the messy bun of her hair that caught his eye, or the way her legs went for miles before her tall heels. The figure she cut definitely heated his blood; her legs in particular were magnificent, slender, yet strong as they'd wrapped around his waist.
But what was intriguing, what he definitely didn't expect, was what caught the light on her belt when she shrugged off her overcoat.
She was a cop.
Holy shit.
Her eyes swept the room and did a double-take back to him, and he smiled, offered her a little wave. She rolled her eyes, but approached him anyway after getting her coffee. "Hi," she greeted him when she was close enough.
"Hey." He motioned towards the seat across from him. "Care to join me?"
She hesitated, then slid in. "What are you doing here?" she asked after a few sips of her drink.
He shrugged, casual, but inside he was excited, his heart racing. He'd never thought he'd miss someone after spending just a few hours with them, most of which was spent not talking, but he'd missed her. "I like the coffee."
"At two o'clock in the morning?"
"I have insomnia."
Her eyebrows raised at that. "Insomnia? And you thought coffee would help with that?"
"Touche," he returned, tipping his mug in her direction. When she just scoffed and took another drink, he took the opportunity to study her.
She looked tired; her eyes were missing the spark from the previous week, the flirting smirk gone. Both her blazer and button-down were wrinkled and looked worn in, as if she'd been wearing them for hours. She was still gorgeous, but she looked sad, and a little discouraged.
"Is everything okay?" he asked, his voice soft, and she looked up in surprise.
The mask appeared in an instant, and she drained the rest of her coffee, set the empty mug on the table with a loud thump. "Yeah. Wanna get out of here?"
He gave her his number that night, but she didn't call. Not when she heard of his incident with the police horse, or when she needed to unwind from any number of cases, not even on nights she just didn't want to be alone.
No matter what, she didn't call. Wouldn't.
It wasn't until a cold and rainy afternoon in the second week of January, as the city was putting away Christmas for the year, that she pulled up his contact information in her phone. Her thumb hovered over the call button, but before she could press it she stopped herself, slipped her phone away with a sigh. She took one last look at the grey stone in front of her, wiped the tears from her cheeks, and retreated back down the hill.
Maybe she'd run into him at the cafe.
As soon as she stepped out of the cab, though, she realized that coffee was the last thing she wanted. She looked around for a minute, hunched against the bitter wind, and when she saw the bar sign at the end of the block she headed that way. She didn't hear anything besides the wind howling, so when she felt a hand on her arm she spun, arms raised to defend herself. Her fists unclenched when she saw who was behind her.
"Rick?" She glanced at his unbuttoned coat, the unopened umbrella in his hand. "What are you doing here?"
He opened the umbrella and stepped closer, lifting it over both of their heads. "I saw you through the window, so I thought...but then you left." He shrugged, a sheepish smile on his stubbled face. "I wanted to say hi."
She shoved her hands in her pockets; it definitely wasn't the day to forget her gloves. "Okay. Well, hi." She started to turn to go towards the bar; it was cold and wet, and she wanted to be inside, but he stopped her again. "What?"
"Sorry," he apologized, a flush creeping onto his cheeks. "I just...how are you?"
She had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling. Despite her avoidance of the past two and a half months, despite her snapping at him, she was glad to see him. She'd never believed in coincidence or fate, but it was hard to deny that running into him was just what she needed. "I'm fine," she lied, and she jerked her head towards the bar behind her. "Buy you a drink?"
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Only if you let me buy the second one."
A few minutes later they were settled at the counter, drinks in hand, but he stopped her before she could take a sip.
"What are we drinking to?"
She paused, focused on the wall over his shoulder. "To life," she finally decided, holding her glass towards him and meeting his eyes. She ignored the way his brows furrowed, the concern so obvious on his face, and continued. "To life, and living, and doing whatever the hell we want, because we can."
He hesitated, but tapped his glass against hers. "To life," he repeated before taking a swig.
Over the next several hours he helped her forget, if only for a little while, what that day represented. It was always hard for her, the annual reminder of what she'd lost. But as the alcohol loosened her enough to respond to his flirting with some of her own, she felt some of the sadness and despair melt away.
And later, when he asked for her number as she slipped out of the bed of a random hotel, she gave it to him.
